


A Place Like This

by AngieOwlie



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chaos, Child!Tintin, Children, Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Kid Fic, Orphans, Parent-Child Relationship, Tintin melting Haddock's heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:35:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26625280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngieOwlie/pseuds/AngieOwlie
Summary: When Mrs Finch the local orphanage caretaker delivers a pleasant tuft-haired little boy to Marlinspike Hall (“Just until the orphanage is safe again and the suspect who ransacked the place is caught!”), the master of the house reluctantly agrees to look after him. But between keeping the boy out of trouble and out of his beard, he slowly realizes that perhaps the most difficult task of all is really in keeping the tuft of ginger out of his heart.In other words - Captain Haddock gets into all sorts of bumbling mishaps while looking after child!Tintin.
Relationships: Archibald Haddock & Tintin
Comments: 33
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! Hope everyone has been well :)
> 
> I've always really liked heartwarming stories where a pure-hearted happy little child comes into the life of a grumpy adult who wants nothing to do with children, but through the highs and lows they come to realize life would never be the same again without each other. And so, I started to imagine what it might be like if sweet little Tintin came into Haddock's life and melted his grumpy guarded heart :')
> 
> I've been tinkering with this au on and off since May and I kept editing and tweaking to no end, so finally I decided - to hell with perfection. Done is better than perfect! >:D

“ _TEN THOUSAND THUNDERING TYPHOONS!!_ Why, I don’t believe this—”  
  
Haddock tore up the letter and tossed the pieces into the fireplace. “That back-stabbing Allan—five years of friendship clearly meant _nothing_ to him!”  
  
Huffing, he dropped into the seat behind his desk and reached for the bottle; his back already beginning to warm uncomfortably from the sunlight streaming in through the window.  
  
How quickly it was that his day spiralled from bad to worse.  
  
Just this morning, when the car had pulled up outside Marlinspike Hall and the orphanage caretaker, Mrs Finch, had stepped out with the little boy, Haddock wondered—not for the first time—why anyone would send a child here. He wasn’t looking forward to having the ruddy boy running all over his family’s grand estate; but in the end, had reluctantly agreed upon hearing Mrs Finch explain over the phone that the orphanage had run out of temporary homes to turn to, and Marlinspike was their last hope.  
  
_Thank you, oh thank you, Captain!_ the woman had exclaimed last week. _We’ve already placed the other children in good hands and he was the only one left. Oh, this nasty business; dreadful, simply dreadful! I really cannot fathom why anyone would do such a thing. And an orphanage, no less! Thank heavens we were on an outing at the park when it happened…  
  
_And Haddock had nodded and grumbled into the phone, annoyed with himself for giving in so easily but needing his family’s reputation to consider as well. Not to mention granddaddy always said the more good deeds one did, the better life repaid you.  
  
Hmph. Well. It seemed life was evidently _not_ on his side today, for he received word that his first mate had gone run off with his beloved _Karaboudjan_ and rounded himself another crew.  
  
“The scoundrel...I don’t need him anyway.” Haddock poured himself a glass, downing in one gulp.  
  
“In fact—” he poured another, “I’m better off without the whole lot of them—ho ho, yes!” He raised the glass, “Captain Haddock will be just fine on his own, thank you very mu—aaahhh!”  
  
Something came tumbling through the window behind, crashing into him and sending the glass in his hand spilling all over his face, beard, and down one side of his sweater.

“Blistering barnacles!” Haddock stood and shook off his arm. “What in the blazes—” He stopped, eyes slowly narrowing.  
  
For the boy from this morning—what was his name? Tintin?—was picking himself off the floor and dusting down his trousers.  
  
Haddock frowned. How on earth did this child get in here? His study was on the ground floor, yes, but what in the world was this child doing, climbing through windows in the first place? Mrs Finch had gladly assured him the boy was very well-behaved: that he enjoyed reading away entire afternoons and playing quietly with his toys and wouldn’t in the least bit cause any trouble, the darling angel.  
  
Haddock snorted. Behave his foot! The lad may look well-behaved in that clear blue sweater and neat little collar of his, but one had to be a fool to not notice the way his eyes took in everything around him with quick interest. No doubt plotting to wreck mayhem, the brat.  
  
Fisting both hands to his hip, he peered down, one eyebrow raised. “And just what d’you think you’re doing, huh? Didn’t I tell you to play in your room?”  
  
The boy looked up, as if noticing for the first time someone else was here, and smiled. “Oh hello, Uncle Captain.”  
  
“ _SALTWATER JELLYFISH—_ Who’re you calling unc—”  
  
“I’m playing escape!” The boy picked up something white—or rather _was_ white but had become dirty with greying matted fur—and shoved it almost into Haddock’s nose, excitement in his beaming freckled face. “Some bad men were chasing me and Snowy, but good thing we got away! Didn’t we, boy?” Haddock watched as he hugged the small plush dog affectionately, as if it were his most dearest friend in the world.  
  
He scowled. “Now look here,” he pointed a finger. “I don’t know how you managed to climb up but this room is off-limits, _particularly_ to ginger brats. So take your pet now—” he jabbed at the door, “and _return to your room at once._ ”  
  
The boy’s shoulders dropped. “Oh...alright.” But then just as quickly his eyes lit up again, big and blue and full of hope. “Do you want to escape with us too?” He cocked his head adorably—no no, he’s feigning innocence, the rascal—“You look really sad, being in here all by yourself.”  
  
“What, I—” Haddock held up his hands, “Oh, no. No, no no no. I agreed to look after you, but if you think I would go about running around _my own house_ for heaven’s sake—”  
  
“Ohhh, Uncle Captain, it’ll be fun!”  
  
“No no, go on now. Shoo!”  
  
Giggling, the boy wrapped—actually _wrapped_ —himself around his leg. “Oh pleeease. Please, Uncle Captain. Just for a little while!”  
  
Grumbling, Haddock massaged his temple. He debated if he ought to go pick out something stronger from the liquor cabinet, or ring up the orphanage and tell them to come collect the boy, because—to hell with his reputation—he made a terrible mistake and _either he leaves or Haddock leaves or so help both of them.  
  
_He decided to try again. “Look here, boy. I shall only say this once more, but on the count of three—”  
  
_Pop!_ went the fireplace.  
  
Haddock turned; the torn pieces of the letter had already begun curling with flames within the hearth.  
  
He squinted. The scrawling words, blurring and scorched, almost seemed as if they—  
  
No. But...  
  
Seeing them disappear...those words with their ugly message...it was almost as if the black memory itself—now crumbling to ashes—was trying to leave him for good.  
  
Leave...  
  
To make room for something else?  
  
He glared down at the boy. The boy beamed up at him.  
  
_Blast it all!_ The lad was still clinging to his leg like a sticky godforsaken starfish. Haddock wasn’t used to people yearning for his attention, and he most certainly didn’t care to be yearned for by _this_ little gangster.  
  
In the end, he reached over and grabbed his hat and a telescope off the desk. “Thundering typhoons, have it your way,” he grumbled. “But only this one time, y’hear me, lad?”  
  
The boy squealed and held a hand to his head, “Aye aye, Captain! Now come on—” He detached himself from Haddock’s leg, picked up the dog, and raced to the door, flinging it open. “The plane’s about to take off, we have to hurry!” He stamped down the hall with a patter of little feet, imitating the screeching engine of an airplane.  
  
Haddock slapped his hat on as he followed after, half annoyed and half with budding amusement; but he’d soon throw himself into the sea then admit aloud.  
  
“Well, where the devil are we going?” he called.  
  
The lad poked out his head from around a corner and announced brightly, “Next stop: the Sahara desert!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 💙
> 
> Will try and update once a week...hopefully XD;;


	2. Chapter 2

“ _By the sails of Columbus!!_ What is, what has he—oh, for heaven’s sake!!”  
  
Along the main foyer of Marlinspike Hall, scribbles and doodles of everything imaginable covered the entire length of the walls. Dogs, cats, trees, flowers; cars, trains, airplanes, rockets...even—Haddock raised a brow at the lad’s imagination—a ship with a proud unicorn at its figurehead.  
  
“This is the absolute last straw! Oh blistering barnacles, I can already hear Sir Francis howling in his grave...”  
  
Grumbling, Haddock bent to pick up the crayons, snatching them up one by one as he followed the trail down the hall.  
  
“...little gangster...turning this place upside down...just you wait, I shall ring up the orphanage if it’s the last thing I do!”  
  
Like shades of a rainbow, the crayons smiled up at him almost mockingly with their innocent colours.  
  
Rounding a corner, Haddock heard before he saw: the boy, humming to himself, lost in a daydream, reaching up to add yet another stroke onto the wall—  
  
“ _Ten thousand blue b_ _listering barnacles!”_ He bounded forward, dropping the crayons; a few snapped in half upon clattering to the floor. “Stop this at once!”  
  
“U-Uncle Captain—!” The boy nearly jumped out of his skin, blue eyes wide like pools of startled water. “Please don’t be mad, I-I’m sorry—” He shrank back, gaze dropping to the marble floor. “I’m sorry, I was just—I was...”  
  
Haddock threw up his arms. “If you want to colour, boy, all you have to do is ask and Nestor will fetch you paper! But if next time I see you and— No.” He put up a hand. “No, actually, there won’t be a next time. Blast it all, I should’ve done this last week!”  
  
“Alright,” he jabbed a finger. “Pick up the crayons. I am ringing up your Mrs Finch and putting an end to this nightmare, before you burn up the kitchen next or who knows what el—” He stopped; the corner of his vision flitted to something on the wall.  
  
It was a figure, scrawled in blue and black, a swirly beard covering away half his face and a flat little hat perched on his head. From his mouth dangled something long and thin, a scrawl of grey smoke puffing at the end.  
  
Haddock peered closer, not sure if that was really who he thought it was, then rounded on the boy. “Is that...me?” he pointed.  
  
The boy nodded quietly, hands behind his back.  
  
Haddock turned back to the wall, noticing another figure next to “himself”. This one was short and small, mostly made up of baby blue with a bit of orange sticking up at the front of his head. A white fluff of a dog stood by his feet.  
  
Despite his anger, Haddock felt an invisible thread tugging at the corner of his mouth, pulling gently until he gave in and almost resembled the beaming drawing on the wall.  
  
He sighed, kneeling to eye-level with the boy, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Tintin, lad—you know I want you to enjoy your time here,” he gestured to the drawings, “but _please,_ spare the poor walls, alright?”  
  
The boy nodded again. He was probably holding back on speaking lest Haddock started shouting again.  
  
“Alright, pick up your things and let’s go find some paper.” Haddock rose to his feet, taking one last glance at the drawings. His mouth drew to a tight line, as if making a very hard decision; then, looking away, he held out a hand. “Here. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”  
  
The boy looked at the drawings, then at the outstretched hand, then back again—and slowly, slowly, his face brightened, and with a squeal of delight from the purest smile Haddock had ever seen, Tintin reached up and took his hand.  
  
“Yes, yes, alright,” Haddock muttered, not used to seeing anyone look so happy because of him. The boy’s hand—how was it so small yet so full of warmth?—held onto his tightly, and he was afraid that squeezing back would crush those tiny fingers.  
  
In the end, he resorted to letting his thumb lay gently against the small hand. As comfort, or...something.  
  
Puffing out his chest, he scowled as best he could, and said, “But I’ll have you know, lad, I can’t go around emulating everything you draw me doing, understood? Now come along, you!”  
  
With one hand holding Tintin and Tintin’s other hand clutching the box of crayons, the two made their way to Haddock’s study but not before Haddock shouted over his shoulder, “Nestor! Nestor, leave those drawings alone! They’re to stay on the wall.”  
  
At that moment, Nestor appeared round the corner, sponge and bucket already in hand. “But—but sir, are you sure? I was about to begin scru—”  
  
“For heaven’s sake, didn’t you hear? You are not to clean them off, blistering barnacles!”  
  
And poor Nestor went back to the kitchen, dumping out the bucket of water, wondering how it was that in a few days’ time since the boy arrived, the master had already started turning into a different person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually the first scene I wrote when I started this au, haha. It always amazes me how much joy kids get from something as simple as holding hands <3


	3. Chapter 3

_Knock knock!  
  
_ ...Silence.  
  
Tintin tried again, rapping his knuckles louder. “Uncle Captain? Uncle Captain, it’s me.”  
  
...Silence, still.  
  
He pressed his ear against the door. “Uncle Captain, are you in there? May I come in?”  
  
Still...silence.  
  
Tintin puffed out his cheeks, considering for a moment, then turned the knob and went inside anyway.  
  
The room was shrouded in shadows, and except for a brim of light streaming through the hem of the drawn curtains, the darkness was quiet, even comforting, on this warm grey afternoon.  
  
The four-poster bed loomed against the far wall, taking up almost half the room, and there, bunched on top, lay the Captain, wrapped up like a soft cocoon with only a scrap of hair peeping out from the thick folds of the blanket.  
  
Treading carefully, Tintin approached his bedside. “Uncle Captain?” he patted gingerly at the bundle. “Are you alright? Mr Nestor sent me to check on you.”  
  
The cocoon shuffled a bit, and then out peeked the Captain’s tired face. “Ugh...what is it now?” His eyes were red and droopy, a hint of a scowl coming across.  
  
Tintin held up the glass. “I brought this.”  
  
Grumbling, an arm slinked out from within the blanket and took the glass, eyeing suspiciously. Taking a slurp—  
  
 _“Bleh!”_ He spat. “This, this is—”  
  
“Water!”  
  
“Why yes, I can see that, thank you very much!!”  
  
“Mr Nestor said it’s to help with your headache—”  
  
The Captain sighed, shaking his head. “My boy...I don’t suppose anyone’s told you, but it’s time you knew.”  
  
Tintin cocked his head.  
  
“Water is Uncle Captain’s sworn enemy. Never, _ever,_ let me drink it.”  
  
Tintin nodded slowly, a bit confused, but otherwise feeling like the Captain had let in on a little secret between them. Mrs Finch had indeed warned him on the drive here that the Captain would be keeping to himself, seeing how he was a great and respectable busy man; but so far Tintin quite enjoyed his company, no matter how brief their interactions were. The Captain often bellowed about, calling people funny names like _bumbling buffoon!_ and _dunderheaded coconut!_ , and even though the man shouted more than he smiled, if anything, Tintin had a feeling he was one of those adults who were actually just shy.  
  
“So tell me,” the Captain said, settling the glass by the bedside table, side-eyeing it to make sure it stay put. “Have you been on your best behaviour? Not climbing through any more windows, have you?”  
  
Tintin shook his head. “I’ve been staying in my room. Like you told me so.” He laced his hands behind his back, swaying on both feet. “Just reading some books by myself. And Snowy.”  
  
“Good, good. Well, if you don’t mind,” the Captain said, pulling up the blanket and laying back down, “I’ll be going back to sleep now. But you run along and don’t go up stirring trouble, y’hear? And ask Nestor if you need anything.”  
  
Tintin nodded, and turned to leave. When he reached the door, his hand paused on the knob; a thought suddenly struck him, like a shooting star crash landing into sparks.  
  
Making his way back, he stood on tiptoes and, with his palms pressing on top the bed, he pecked a little kiss onto the Captain.  
  
“Bl-bl-blistering barnacles—” The Captain jerked awake and reached to touch his cheek. “By thunder, what was that for?”  
  
Tintin ducked his head shyly. “It’s what the mommy in the book I read today did. For children who get sick.” His voice was tiny. “It’s supposed to help them get better, you see.”  
  
The Captain flopped back and draped an arm over his face. Two heartbeats passed, the space filled with only his regretful sighing. Then,  
  
“Thundering typhoons...” he muttered underneath the arm. “I suppose you can bring your stories and read them here, if you’d like.”  
  
And Tintin dashed out as fast as he could.

* * * * *

Later when Nestor came up to check on his master, he heard voices coming from behind the door. Pressing his ear to the wood, he heard—the boy?—recounting some sort of a tale. His eyebrows shot up when next he heard a second, gruff voice, laughing at something the boy said.  
  
Nestor smiled and shook his head, and left the way he came.

* * * * *

Hours later, when it was time for dinner and the two still hadn’t come downstairs, Nestor went up once more.  
  
“Sir?” He rapped on the door. “Sir, are you and the boy still in there? It is time for dinner.”  
  
He waited for a reply, but the only sound that echoed back was a string of snores. A...familiar string of snores.  
  
Sighing, he opened the door and stepped inside.  
  
The curtains were still drawn from where he had left them, but the floor lamp in the corner—the one the master hardly ever used, as far as Nestor knew—was illuminating the otherwise dark room with a soft peachy glow.  
  
Approaching the bed and completely unfazed by the thunderous snoring, Nestor took in the scatter of half a dozen books laying on the bed. At a glance, he saw them to be fairytales and folklore; high tales of adventures of the land and sea; of snow-capped mountains and moon rockets, and—his eyebrows rose (a recurrence, these days)—one that depicted a gigantic red-and-white mushroom. Apparently.  
  
The sight of it all, coupled with the two forms snoozing blissfully, made the corner of his mouth slightly quirk.  
  
He scooped up the books, stacking them on the bedside table, then found a blanket bunched up at the foot of the bed, shook it out and laid it over them, turned off the lamp; then, quietly as possible, left the room and shut the door gently behind.  
  
Underneath the blanket, Tintin shifted in his sleep: a peaceful smile gracing his little face, and Snowy tucked under an arm. He cuddled closer against the Captain’s chest, who grunted and wrinkled his nose and suddenly sleep-waved an arm around in the dark, mumbling about ships and pirates and sunken treasure; then slowly, slowly, calmed and descended softly over Tintin.  
  
One only had to take a glance to safely assume that captain and boy, odd pair though they were, were quite possibly relishing in the best sleep they’ve had for the first time in days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading together + falling asleep + cuddling = :'))


	4. Chapter 4

“...but thankfully a witness on the street saw him escaping! Said he had a pointed beard and was wearing a red suit. Might have also had glasses or pince-nez, goodness knows, the glass was reflecting off light as he ran away...”  
  
Haddock massaged his forehead and dropped into the chair behind his desk. As always, Mrs Finch seemed to enjoy relaying the story of how the orphanage was ransacked. He had rang to give her his weekly report on the lad, but, as usual, the woman latched onto him and started cheerfully chatting nonstop.  
  
“But anyhow! Captain, I am absolutely delighted to hear you two getting on so well! He is quite the charming little boy, isn’t he? Oh, but I do wish someone would come along and adopt him, he deserves a loving home, the poor dear. His father had been a cartoonist, did you know? Quite beloved, I say. But he died suddenly one cold winter day.”  
  
Haddock stopped. “I...I didn’t know that.”  
  
“Yes, well,” she sighed into the phone, “I do believe that someone, somewhere out there, has got a fine home waiting for him. A place where he can belong and given all the love in the world.” Another sigh. “I’m sorry, Captain. It’s just...nothing’s been the same since it happened. The police came by yesterday, said they’ll keep searching and, oh, I _do_ hope they find him soon. This dreadful business simply must end—oh! Pardon me, Captain—”  
  
There was a shuffle, a muffled “Be right there with you!”, then another shuffle in which she unmuffled the mouthpiece. “Someone’s just arrived at the door—donations again!”  
  
“Donations?”  
  
“Why yes, for the children. Books, toys, clothing—that little dog Tintin carries around was one as well, you know.” She lowered her voice, “Though, if you ask me, I’d say the dog is certainly bad luck.”  
  
His eyebrow arched. “What makes you say that?”  
  
“Well, you see, the day after the dog arrived, the orphanage was ransacked. And the day before it came—didn’t you read the headlines, Captain?—her ladyship, the Milanese Nightingale, reported that someone had stolen her most precious emerald! And I really do think—” Her voice broke off and Haddock heard distantly—“Yes yes, alright, I’m coming!”—and then her normal voice, “Oh Captain, I’m sorry, I really must go now—but do give Tintin all my love!” And the phone clicked off.  
  
He sat for a moment, massaging his ear, soothing away everything Mrs Finch yammered in. But now that she had mentioned it...he did remember seeing something in the paper, something about “The Case of the Castafiore Emerald”, but back then he had been fretting over the arrival of the boy to pay much attention to anything else.  
  
He shook his head. Ah, well. No emeralds here for him to worry about.  
  
He glanced at the grandfather clock: half past eight. Excellent, time for a wee glass of whisky before bed.  
  
On his way to the kitchen, he passed the drawing room where the boy was busying himself on the carpet with some toys. It was a toy set, of sorts; the figures seemed to all be mismatched. Haddock wondered if they had come as donations, too.  
  
Shrugging, he continued to the kitchen and poured himself a generous glass. Now, to retire to his study and enjoy the rest of the night with a good book...  
  
And yet, somehow, he did not immediately retreat, but instead found himself paused just outside the drawing room again, taking in the quiet sight of the lad playing.  
  
He was fiddling around with the figures. There was a cowboy, two people in orange space suits, a young Scot dressed in blue, a bearded pirate in purple waving a cutlass, and...a goat with glasses?  
  
Curiosity got the better of him. And before he could convince himself this was a terrible idea and pinpoint exactly why the blazes he would even prefer to be in the company of the lad—strolled right in, whisky and intrigue following hand in hand.  
  
“Uncle Captain!” The boy’s face immediately lit up, and the sight of his dear little smile, freckled cheeks and all, sparked an unusually warm flutter right next to Haddock’s heart.  
  
He dropped down by the lad, careful not to slosh the whisky, and picked up the funny-looking farm animal. “And what, pray tell, is this?”  
  
The lad stopped what he was doing (adjusting bowler hats for a pair of mustached twins) and pointed, “That’s the professor. He makes a lot of inventions!”  
  
“But...this is a goat.”  
  
“Mm-hm.” The lad went back to the figures and hung a walking stick on each arm. “But he’s really really smart. He even made these for everyone—look!” He reached behind and brought out, one in each hand, a humongous checkered rocket and a great big black-and-white shark. Which, from the looks of it, also happened to be a submarine.  
  
Haddock stared. “This...the–the _goat_ made these.”  
  
“Yeah!”  
  
How the imaginations of children work, Haddock would never understand.  
  
“Here, Uncle Captain!—I’ll be this one and you can be him.” A tiny fist held up one of the orange space man; the other was already clutched in his other hand.  
  
“Erm...what am I supposed to do with it?” He turned the figure around, pinched between two fingers, taking in the jet pack and antenna, and noticing a head underneath the helmet, its face painted with a beard and permanent scowl; the poor fellow, he looked as if he didn’t even want to travel to the moon.  
  
Tintin got to his feet and tugged for Haddock to do the same. “Just follow me!”  
  
They pretended to jump around the furniture, leaping from couch to couch, table to carpet, carpet to mantle. He followed the lad’s lead, making the figures bounce from one place to the next. He felt silly, but the lad laughed delightfully at everything he did, so he must be doing something right.  
  
“Aye, I’m going to catch you, you pilfering parrot!” He waved around the figure and quickly used the chance to gulp down some whisky.  
  
“Thundering typhoons, I will never let a big fat jellyfish like you catch me! You foolish black beetle! Cabbage crook! Nitty witty nincompoo—”  
  
Haddock choked on his whisky, coughing and coughing coughing coughing. “Bl-bl-blistering barnacles! My dear boy—you can’t go around saying things like that!” The lad beamed up at him, not the least bit bothered. “Mrs Finch will have a heart attack if you returned bellowing about like a pirate! And then how shall I explain it to her?”  
  
Tintin giggled behind a hand. “But I sounded just like you, didn’t I!” The little rascal looked rather pleased with himself.  
  
Haddock wiped his brow. Oh Poseidon, this will surely be the end of his reputation; he can only pray that by the time the lad returned to the orphanage, hopefully, _hopefully,_ he’ll have forgotten how to say those things.  
  
He sighed, weakly. “Just...promise me you won’t say them anymore, alright?”  
  
The lad nodded, cheeks glowing rosy, and Haddock couldn’t help but soften at how innocently adorable he was.  
  
They continued playing for a little while longer, Haddock imitating all sorts of funny voices and taking care not to include anymore—ah... _debatable_ choice of words, until the lad yawned and rubbed his eyes, and Haddock declared it was time for bed, and swept him into his arms, carrying him upstairs to his room, tucking him in and laying the dog beside, and adjusted the covers once time.  
  
“But...I’m not...tired...” the lad protested sleepily, blue eyes barely able to stay open.  
  
“Aye, it is time to sleep. Tomorrow we’ll, we’ll...” He racked his brain, going through the list of things he’s since come to learn will tickle the lad’s fancy. “We’ll go to the library and then head for the park, the one Mrs Finch often took you to. How’s that?”  
  
“Mmm...okay. Good night, Uncle Captain.”  
  
“Good night, little barnacle.”  
  
Haddock turned off the lamp and quietly retreated from the room, though he paused just before shutting the door, wanting to take one more peek.  
  
The boy was already fast asleep, breathing slow and quiet; his chest rising and falling like a gentle wave.  
  
“Good night, Tintin,” he whispered, and closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway through the story now! Hugs to everyone who's been reading and enjoying so far~ 🌸💕💕 Only 4 more chapters to go until Tintin returns to the orphanage (...or will he?) ;3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~ Long time no—write? talk? XD;; Hope everyone's having a good winter holiday!
> 
> Sorry I've been away! I had a bit of writer's block and just all-around needed a break from social media. I sort of lost inspiration and motivation to continue this story...and was really really close to abandoning it, but I already did that once last year with another story and I didn't wanna do it again, so I decided to push on through and finish this fic no matter what!
> 
> The rest of the fic is pretty much finished; I just need to fix-up one part in chapter 7 and edit chapter 8, and then that's it! I'll be uploading the remaining 3 chapters over the next few days and end this year by (finally;; 😅) finishing this fic.
> 
> Thank you everyone who stuck with this story :')

“...this one and this one aaand this one!”  
  
Haddock stumbled a little, trying to balance the already high stack in his arms in addition to the ones Tintin just added. “Blistering barnacles lad, are you trying to empty out the entire library? Just what did you pick—” He scanned the picture books: _Around the World in Eighty Days, The Mysterious Island, Old Yeller, Shiloh—  
  
_ “That’s it, Uncle Captain! Let’s go and borrow them and go to the park!”  
  
Shaking his head against a half-smile, he followed the practically bouncing Tintin to the front desk.

* * * * *

The bag of books swung from Haddock’s arm as his other hand joined with Tintin’s. Far above, the sun was beaming, the clouds were drifting, blast!—even the birds were merrily chirping.  
  
“Uncle Captain, have you ever been to this park before?”  
  
He pretended to think for a moment. “I can’t say I have. Is it a fun park?” Rhetorical, he knew, but he’s come to learn that children—Tintin—liked being asked the obvious. (For that matter, they seemed to like being asked _anything._ )  
  
“Yeah! They have a boat there, and you can climb up and pretend you’re driving like a sailor! And one time, one time, Mrs Finch took us and we had a plushie picnic party!” He dipped down and briefly nuzzled the dog in his arm, matted fur and all. (Haddock made a mental note to get Nestor to throw it into the wash next time.)  
  
But then his face fell, and for some reason seeing Tintin sad brought a twang to his heart. “But that was the day the bad man came and made a mess at the orphanage.”  
  
Haddock wasn’t sure what to say. “Do you...miss it there?”  
  
The boy shrugged. “I miss my friends a little bit. I always read a lot to them, Chang and Zorrino, because they don’t know how to read yet.”  
  
Haddock chuckled. “Well, they’re very lucky to have you. And if I may say so, you are an—um...” Intelligent? Special? Funny? “You are a talented storyteller. You made my headache go away, remember?”  
  
And the beam that Tintin gave him was as big and bright as the sun itself, Haddock couldn’t help but feel a flutter in his chest. He wrinkled his nose. The fluttering had been going on for a while now, often when Tintin was beside him, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.  
  
“We’re here, we’re here!” The boy let go of his hand and dashed forward. Haddock stood on the sideline of the park, watching as he climbed up the ladder and race to the front of the wooden boat. As he watched Tintin laughing and steering the wheel, the little warmth in his chest fluttered again.  
  
“Ten thousand typhoons...” Muttering, he placed the bag onto the ground and fumbled out his pipe, hoping it would provide a distraction. Pipe lit, he inhaled and let out a deep, long puff.  
  
“Pardon me sir, but I couldn’t help but notice your son is adorable!”  
  
Haddock coughed, choking on the smoke. “B-beg pardon?”  
  
A woman was sitting nearby with two toddlers, handing them each half a triangular sandwich; a picnic basket was wedged between them on the park bench. The woman looked over and smiled. “Your son, the boy with the quiff! He seems like such a charming little dear, and you’re a very lucky—”  
  
“Oh, m-madam, I’m not his—” Haddock held up both hands. “He’s, um, that is...I’m only looking after him for the time being.”  
  
She gasped. “Oh my, I do apologize! It’s just...you’re both wearing blue, and I thought perhaps it was some sort of father-son outfit! You were looking in his direction with such fondness that I—oh, I am terribly sorry!”  
  
Haddock’s mouth suddenly felt very dry, and it wasn’t because of the tobacco. But he managed to pull into a smile, and wondered if the woman would notice he was trying to hide the awkwardness. Although, if he was being honest, he actually didn’t mind the misunderstanding at all.  
  
  
  
_Meanwhile..._  
  
Tintin was having a lovely time.  
  
After “driving” the boat around the world five times and “visiting” all the places he read about in books, he had hopped off and went to play in the sandpit. He hummed quietly from where he crouched now, building a sandcastle. His little heart glowed as he cupped and poured and patted the sand in place, the Captain’s big house starting to take shape. When it looked about right, he placed Snowy in front of the house so the dog could guard over the place.  
  
Grinning at his handiwork, he got to his feet and dusted off his hands, and was about to go and find two rocks to act as the Captain and him when something made him stop.  
  
He glanced around—saw lots of other children playing, saw people riding bicycles and walking their dogs, saw the Captain talking nervously with a lady, and...  
  
There, by the trees at the far end of the park, a man was watching him. He was wearing a red suit and tiny glasses that sat on his nose, and was looking at him with an evil smile. When he realized Tintin saw him, he quickly backed away and retreated into the trees, two glints the last thing to disappear into the shadows.  
  
A chill crept up Tintin, an icy grip twisting his chest. He plucked up Snowy and bolted as fast as he could across the park towards the Captain.  
  
“L-Laddie? What’s wrong?”  
  
Reaching him, the Captain knelt and wrapped him into his arms.  
  
Tintin didn’t answer, only buried himself deeper within the Captain’s hold, letting the older man’s large hands rub gently at his back. And in that instant he felt safe, that no matter what happened the Captain would always be there, to protect and to comfort him.  
  
“Can we...go home now?” he whispered.  
  
The Captain nodded, picked up the book bag, bid goodbye to the lady, and took his hand.  
  
A whirl of events passed that afternoon, but the one that hung in the air as they left the park was what Tintin had said,  
  
_Home._


	6. Chapter 6

“...and so the little boy keeps the dog, and they all lived happily ever after.”  
  
Tintin snuggled in his sheets. “I like that story.”  
  
Haddock closed the book and smiled at him. “Me too, lad.”  
  
“Can we read another one?”  
  
“Oh, I think that’s enough for now. It’s been a long day, we’d best turn in early.” Rising from the chair, he placed the book on the bedside and started tucking Tintin in.  
  
“Uncle Captain...how come no one else lives here?”  
  
He fluffed the pillow. “Why, we have Nestor, don’t we?”  
  
“But Mr Nestor is always busy.” Tintin cocked his head. “Don’t you get lonely, Uncle Captain?”  
  
He continued busying himself with the bedding. “It’s fine. It’s...I like it this way.”  
  
“But maybe…maybe after the orphanage is safe again, I can still stay here a little longer!” Tintin sat up, excited with his idea.  
  
Haddock stopped what he was doing. “Lad, you know what Mrs Finch said. After the orphanage is safe again, you’ll go back and someone nice will come along and...give you a good home.”  
  
Tintin’s face fell. “Oh...yeah.” He laid back down quietly.  
  
Finished with the bedding, Haddock patted his tuft. “Sleep well, little barnacle. We’ll read more stories tomorrow.” He made to leave and would have had, if not for that moment something tugged his sleeve.  
  
“Uncle Captain...can you stay with me today?”  
  
He glanced down: so small and chubby was the fist that it seemed impossible to have such strength as it was, clutching at his sleeve.  
  
He plopped down on the edge of the bed. “Something the matter, lad?”  
  
Tintin was silent, as if choosing his next words carefully. Then he whispered, “I don’t want to go back to the orphanage. I want to stay here, with you. Forever and ever.”  
  
And in that moment, Haddock realized from the bottom of his heart he didn’t want the suspect to be found at all. But he put on a brave face so the lad wouldn’t see through the cracks in his smile. “We’ll see what Mrs Finch has to say about that, alright? Now get some sleep, you’ve had a long day.”  
  
And Tintin nodded, yawning, hand still grasping Haddock’s, safe in the knowledge that all was well, and closed his eyes.  
  
Haddock remained quietly on the bed. “Forever and ever, forever and ever...” he mumbled, trying out the words on his tongue and finding that, he did, actually, like them very much. “It does have a rather nice ring, doesn’t it Tin—” He glanced over, but the lad was already fast asleep. Prying his hand gently from the boy’s hold, he got up and left.  
  
Dragging himself down the hall towards his own room, his heart lay heavy against his chest. As he did, he passed a window that overlooked the grounds of Marlinspike, and had he looked out at that moment, would have seen that underneath the twinkling sky, a figure in red was slinking past the gates and slipping quietly onto the grounds of Marlinspike Hall.


	7. Chapter 7

Haddock was running through a hedge maze, chased by giant books and goats and whisky bottles, when a cry rang out.  
  
“No, no, stop!—that’s mine—”  
  
Shattered awake, he jolted up in bed.  
  
“—stop! stop, give him back!—Uncle Captain, Uncle Captain! Help!!”  
  
He leaped out of bed, almost slipping on the rug, and bolted down the hall.  
  
“Tintin! Tintin, what’s happened?” Yanking open the door, he flew to the lad’s bedside. The boy was crying, trembling in a corner on the bed. Haddock wanted to scoop him up and tell him everything was going to be alright, but there was no time to lose.  
  
“Uncle Captain, h-he came—I don’t know, I was sleeping—and he came in and took Snowy!”  
  
A crash downstairs sent Haddock veering towards the staircase. Grabbing the balcony rail, he squinted through the dark and snatched sight of a shadowy figure already on the ground floor heading for the grand door.  
  
“Oh no, you don’t!” Flying down the steps, he raced across and jumped onto the intruder, sending them both tumbling onto the marble floor. Something white flew from the man and landed a few feet away.  
  
Haddock surged forward the same time the other man dove, and the white fluff was caught between their hold.  
  
“Let go, you fiend! pirate! thief!” Haddock pulled.  
  
The other man pulled too, unrelenting in his hold.  
  
“Let go!”  
  
“Never!”  
  
“Thundering typhoons, _let go this instant—”  
  
_ “NO!”  
  
_Rip!  
  
_ They stumbled back, each landing with half a dog.  
  
A squeak of shoes made him look up—and throwing down the half-dog, he leaped and tackled the man to the ground once more.  
  
At that moment, lights flickered on throughout the estate, and Nestor came running from his quarters, nightcap flying behind him. “Sir, sir! I heard the most terrible noise and I’ve rung the police! Is everything alr—”  
  
“Nestor, quick, hold him down—” He transferred the struggling man over. “I’ve a few words I’d like to ask this buffoon!  
  
“Right then,” he circled round to face him. “I’m only going to ask this once, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll answer truthfully— _what the devil are you doing here!?_ ”  
  
The man sneered. Haddock grabbed his shoulders and shook him fiercely, “Answer me, you crook! How dare you break in! Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with? I am Captain Haddock, descendant of Sir Francis Hadd—”  
  
“I came to retrieve what’s mine,” the man interrupted coolly.  
  
“Wha— _yours?_ —the _plush?_ ”  
  
“For God’s sake, what’s _inside_ of it, you fool!”  
  
Without taking his eyes off the man, Haddock stooped to pick up the front end of Snowy, and glanced inside.  
  
Sparkling in all its glory and looking much more magnificent than the photographs in the headline—there, wedged among the stuffing of the dog, was the missing emerald.  
  
“It...it can’t be...” Haddock stared.  
  
“Oh, I can very well assure you—it can, and it is.” The man grinned wickedly, eyes shining from the glint of his pince-nez.  
  
“But why did you—”  
  
“Steal from the most powerful woman in all of Europe?”  
  
“—hide it in a toy?” Haddock turned Snowy over. “Seems an odd choice. Not very criminal-like, that’s for sure.”  
  
“For crying out loud!” the man yelped. “It’s because no one would think to check a child’s plush! Clearly you’ve never robbed anyone, and it shows. Anyway, as I was saying—”  
  
“Nestor, how long before the police come?”  
  
“—during my getaway I must’ve accidentally dropped the dog—”  
  
“Very soon now, sir. In the meantime—”  
  
“—someone outside the orphanage must’ve picked it up—”  
  
“—we should stay put and watch over this man—”  
  
“—broke in the next day, of course, though the damn thing was nowhere to be found—”  
  
“Yes yes, of course, Nestor, you’re quite right. But first...”  
  
“—looked everywhere, but by a stroke of luck—there it was! At the park! And by chance, the brat was living with none other than Archibald Haddock of Marlinspike Hall! So I said to mysel— _OWW!! MY NOSE!_ ”  
  
Haddock pulled back and blew on his fist. “Clearly you’ve never faced a Haddock before, and it shows.”  
  
The man sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “And I shall hope I never have to again,” he muttered bitterly.  
  
And so it was, the police arrived shortly and took him away. The two ends of Snowy were promptly collected and placed in a plastic bag, as evidence to the case. And just before they left, one of the policemen paused at the door and tipped his hat. “We owe you, Captain Haddock. This here is the infamous Ivan Sakharine. We’ve been on his tail for months.”  
  
“Oh, of course, um...happy to be of service.”  
  
The policeman tipped his hat again, and shut the door.  
  
Breathing a sigh of relief, Haddock ran a hand over his face when a small voice drifted from behind.  
  
“Uncle Captain, was that...was that the man Mrs Finch was looking for?”  
  
Haddock whirled around. There, halfway down the staircase, was Tintin.  
  
He went up, taking him gently by the hand, and led him back upstairs. “It was. But we’ll...we’ll talk about this tomorrow, alright?”  
  
The lad nodded. And then he asked the one thing Haddock feared he would never have to answer: “Do I...have to go back to the orphanage now?”  
  
Reaching Tintin’s room, Haddock flashed his most reassuring smile, but didn’t reply.

* * * * *

After getting Tintin settled in bed and staying until he fell asleep, Haddock returned downstairs to his study. As he picked up the phone, prepared to ring up Mrs Finch and let her know about, well, the good news...his finger hesitated over the dial. Then, thinking about what’s best for Tintin, he sighed regretfully and dialed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter tomorrow! Thank you everyone who's followed along~ ^^


	8. Chapter 8

Golden whisky sloshed around as Haddock twirled the bottle mindlessly.  
  
Usually a good drink could settle his mind, but try as he might, he couldn’t stop replaying the events of the morning...  
  
 _Mrs Finch, pausing in the doorway and turning to smile at him: “And you’ll never believe it, Captain—the Signora heard of what happened and she wants to adopt Tintin! Oh, isn’t that just lovely? He’ll finally get the home he deserves!”  
  
_ _And Haddock had nodded and tried to smile, but kept glancing over at where the lad sat waiting in the car. They hadn’t said much to each other, not since what happened last night. Perhaps they both thought this was a dream from which they would wake up soon, so there was no need to say their goodbyes._  
  
“Sir, if I may...”  
  
“Hmm?” He didn’t bother looking up, only continued staring at the bottle, sure that if he did it long enough it would give him the answer he was looking for. Only thing is, he wasn’t sure which of the million questions storming his mind he wanted answered first.  
  
“I’m not sure letting Tintin go back is indeed the best choice. For both of you.”  
  
Outside, rain continued dashing against the window of the drawing room. But for all he cared, the rain could be pouring onto him and it wouldn’t have made a difference at all. “It’s done, Nestor. There’s nothing more to say.”  
  
His butler continued dusting the mantel. “He needs you, and you need him. And though you deny it, sir, Marlinspike just isn’t solely yours anymore. It’s become his, too. And I believe that deep down, you knew long ago.” And with a final sweep, he breezed out the room.  
  
Alone again, Haddock took another swig from the bottle. From where he sat, he could just see the wall leading off to the entrance hall. He stared for a moment, at the drawings of himself and the lad, smiling and holding hands, and suddenly, as if a match blazing to life in the dark—something stirred within him, some warm flutter exploding into memories of golden afternoons, laughing and playing and running around the house.  
  
Slamming down the bottle, he got to his feet and hurriedly grabbed for his coat. He’s made many mistakes in life, but this!—this was about to become the biggest one yet! “Nestor!—Nestor, I’m going out!” And with that, he rushed out the house, one arm in and the other sleeve still flapping behind.  
  
Somewhere upstairs, Nestor smiled as he continued cleaning, making sure that everything was in order and ready for welcoming back their new member of Marlinspike Hall.

* * * * *

“Now Signora, if you would please sign here...”  
  
“Why, of course! And to think—my emerald had been cared for all this time by such a charming young lad, I really had nothing to worry about!” She patted Tintin gently on the cheek. Swaying his feet absentmindedly from where he sat beside her, Tintin did not feel the least bit happy at finally being adopted. He didn’t even have Snowy to hold onto.  
  
The Signora picked up the pen, “I am most delighted we shall begin a new life together—”  
  
 _bang!  
  
_ All three nearly jumped out of their chairs. There, in the doorway, dripping from head to toe and looking as if he swam through the ocean and battled Poseidon himself to get here, was the Captain.  
  
“Uncle Captain!” Tintin leaped off and went to hug him, not the least bit worried that his shirt would soak through from the rain.  
  
The Captain bent and folded him into his arms. “I’m so sorry, my boy. I should’ve never let you go.”  
  
Tintin cuddled closer, tickled by his beard. “It’s okay. I knew you would come.”  
  
Straightening up, the Captain said, “Mrs Finch, I am here to adopt Tintin. Hand me the papers and we’ll be on our way.”  
  
“But Captain, the Signora was— Everything is ready to go—”  
  
“If I may, I think we should allow the boy to decide.” It was the Signora who spoke. “After all, it is only fair. This kind fellow—what was his name? Captain Fatstock?—has looked after the boy for quite some time.”  
  
Mrs Finch nodded. “Very well. Tintin, who would you like to live with?”  
  
Tintin reached for the Captain’s hand, and beamed. “I want to go home with Uncle Captain.”  
  
The Captain smiled at him, then turned to Mrs Finch, “If it’s no trouble...may I borrow a pen?”

* * * * *

Soon as they pulled into the driveway and got out, Tintin ran over and gave him another hug. This time, Haddock lifted him up into his arms.  
  
“Uncle Captain?”  
  
“Yes, my boy?”  
  
“I’m so happy! I always wanted to live in a place like this.”  
  
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Is that so? In a big house, you mean?”  
  
Tintin cuddled against his cheek. “Someplace where someone wanted me.”  
  
By now, the rain had long stopped, and Haddock’s back was beginning to warm comfortably from the sunlight streaming down through parted clouds. And it could have been all those things, plus the effects of the Loch Lomond he drank earlier, that he suddenly, without really knowing why, felt like crying. But it was the happy kind, the kind of crying where one’s deepest, most quiet of wishes came true, and there was suddenly no words to express except through tears.  
  
He set down the lad, and quickly ran a sleeve over his eyes. “Come on, little barnacle. Let’s go inside. There’s someone I want to show y—”  
  
At that moment, somewhere within the estate came a stream of excited little yappings, followed by Nestor’s worried voice echoing through the halls, and next thing they knew—a small white bundle came bounding out the door and leaped into Tintin’s arms.  
  
“Sir! Oh sir, I tried to stop him!” Nestor appeared, hands on his knees, panting in the doorway, a towel slung over his shoulder and bubbles clinging around his bald head. “He just took off the moment I finished drying him!”  
  
Haddock laughed, amused. “Why don’t you go have a drink? We’ll be in shortly.” And Nestor, still wheezing and clutching his chest, nodded silently and disappeared back inside.  
  
“Uncle Captain...is this...is this really...?” Tintin spun around, eyes and mouth as wide as the sun itself. The pup in his arms took no notice of the surprise he had caused, and was busy licking Tintin’s face.  
  
Haddock smiled. “His name is Snowy. But if you want to, of course, you could name him something differe—”  
  
“I LOVE HIM!” Tintin dipped down and nuzzled his new friend. “Thank you, Uncle Captain.”  
  
Haddock ruffled his hair. “Come on, let’s go inside. Do you want to see the bed and toys I got for Snowy?”  
  
“Yeah! Oh, can Snowy sleep with me in my room? Pleeeease?”  
  
Haddock chuckled. “Of course he can, my boy.”  
  
Together, they made their way into the house, and when Tintin reached for his hand, Haddock made sure to hold on and never let go again.  
  
  
The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it all the way here—thank you so much for reading! This took way longer than expected, (laughs;;;...) but I'm happy it's finished! X)
> 
> And now, we've come to the end of 2020. Despite the ups and downs, I hope there were moments throughout the year that made you smile and became beautiful memories for years to come.
> 
> Cheers to the new year! <3


End file.
